


Green Screen

by xenosaurus



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mercenary Work, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenosaurus/pseuds/xenosaurus
Summary: Shatterstar grew up in a world with a skybox.  He doesn't know what to do when he's suddenly alone in the rain.





	Green Screen

**Author's Note:**

> look deadpool 2 gave me a shatterstar who does solo mercenary work instead of being adopted by x-force right out of the gate, I have to explore that
> 
> FORGOT MY CREDITS, a big huge thank you to Benny for betaing and [Lucas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid) (go read his fics they're great) for helping with the character work!

On the day he’s to step into the arena for the first time, Gaveedra Seven wakes up before the lights come on. Any onset of pain is enough to take him from sleep to hyper-awareness immediately, and he spends a few frenzied moments looking for the threat.

There isn’t one. The pain is internal; today, in his thighs. His healing factor has been at war with his first adolescent growth spurt for the past few weeks, turning normal growing pains into sharp muscle cramps.

He walks a few loops around his cell, trying to shake off the soreness. The pain is tolerable, but he needs full mobility even for training. The idea of being below peak performance for his debut fills his stomach with ice water.

There’s a dull mechanical whine that precedes the lights coming on. He sits back down on his cot when he hears it, not wanting any of the others to see him pacing. His timing is good; the sickly white of the fluorescent lamps floods the cell block the moment he’s off his feet.

The cell block is arranged in a grid, each cell separated from the others by a metal walkway. The walls of the cells are something akin to glass, letting him see his neighbors. They’re all children around the same age, dressed identically. The faces are the biggest difference, genetic variety offered so spectators can tell them apart.

They shift the cells around to keep the boys from getting attached to each other, but he still knows everyone’s designations. Gaveedra Four is staring at him from the cell to the south of his.

Gaveedra Seven avoids eye contact. Any perceived rivalry will be exploited for narrative, and if Gaveedra Four really does have an idea of what’s ailing him, it’s a risk to have him as his first opponent.

If he wins the first match, he’ll be fed. His healing factor will use that to patch up whatever is going on in his legs. The first rounds won’t be death matches, but if he starts racking up disadvantages by losing meals and gaining injuries, he’ll be dead by the end of the day.

He will not lose.

*

Shatterstar only has one experience to draw on when he gets to Earth.

Mojo once held a battle royale in an elaborate model city that carried on for ages. Shatterstar doesn’t know how long, with no shift in lighting to mark day and night in the arena. There was food hidden in the buildings, but half of it was poisoned.

Shatterstar doesn’t make the same mistake twice. For the first four days he’s on Earth, he doesn’t eat anything at all.

With nothing to work with, his healing factor slows to a crawl. He has two cracked ribs that haven’t repaired themselves yet, and the bruise that accompanies them has barely changed color. His head aches constantly.

On the fifth day, his hands start to shake and he finally accepts that he needs to eat something.

He waits until it gets dark, then chooses a place that seems to specialize in mind-altering substances. The patrons of such an establishment are less likely to recognize him, although he’s confident he could defeat them even half-starved.

He finds an open window to infiltrate from, as there’s a guard at the door checking identification. It’s a tight squeeze, clearly not intended for a grown man to get through, but he manages it. It’s a short drop to the floor, and Shatterstar lands carefully to make as little noise as possible.

The room he’s in is a lavatory, one that seems to have a broken sanitation system. It smells powerfully of urine, and the toilets are separated by metal dividers that stop so far above the floor that it wouldn’t be hard to crawl under them. Some sort of battle has already occurred here; there’s a huge dent in one of the dividers, and a stall door is hanging on by a single hinge.

More importantly, he isn’t the only one here. Someone is washing their hands at the sink; Shatterstar got lucky, the water is loud enough to cover his entrance. He ducks into an open stall, climbing up on top of the toilet so his feet won’t be visible. The person doesn’t stay long, but Shatterstar waits a few more minutes before he actually steps down.

He’s equally cautious as he opens the door to the rest of the building, one hand on the hilt of his blades.

The room he enters is dimly lit, brighter by a service counter along the wall to illuminate shelves of drinks. They’re labeled with words and images, but Shatterstar can’t read. He’s left with the impression that some of them contain animal products, given that there are images of mammalian creatures on their packaging. The place isn’t all that busy, but Shatterstar still hugs the wall as he approaches the counter, trying to stay out of strike range of the patrons. A few people look at him curiously, but nobody approaches him.

One of the people at the counter is eating a plate of meat slathered in an aromatic sauce. He can _smell_ the spice of it, which is entirely unlike any food he’s eaten before. Normally, that unfamiliarity would be repellent, but he’s so hungry that his mouth waters. He has to swallow before he can address the bartender.

“Where is the rest?” he asks, gesturing towards the man’s plate of meat.

In the cells, food was distributed individually, but this place is so unruly that it has to be closer to the way it works for spectators. Shatterstar has seen people in the stands grabbing food from huge plates carried between the rows by servants, so that’s what he’s looking for here.

The bartender, a woman old enough that she _has_ to be a spectator for her to have survived this long, looks him up and down. “ID,” she says finally.

“What?” Shatterstar asks.

“Sorry buddy, gotta see your ID before I can sell you anything.”

Shatterstar takes a step back, shaking his head. “No.”

The woman stares him right in the eye, which feels like such a threat that Shatterstar puts his hand back on the hilt of his blades.

“Do I need to get the bouncer?”

Shatterstar gets his weapon halfway out of the sheath before someone abruptly intervenes. It’s one of the men who’d glanced his way as he crossed the room, a young man with heavy stubble and chin-length hair. He steps in between Shatterstar and the counter, smiling in a way that feels strange and submissive.

“Hey man, there you are. Don’t wander off like that,” he says, before addressing the bartender directly. “Sorry about him, he had a little too much at the last leg of the bar crawl.”

Below the woman’s line of sight, the man puts a hand on Shatterstar’s wrist, giving him a gentle nudge to push the blades back into their sheath. Shatterstar pulls bodily away from this stranger, shaking off the touch.

“I am not part of whatever alliance you believe me to be,” Shatterstar insists. “I am here to obtain provisions and nothing else.”

The man takes a moment to think over Shatterstar’s statement, then clumsily starts looking through his pockets. Shatterstar tenses and takes another step away, preparing for the emergence of a weapon.

Instead, the man pulls out a wallet. He pulls out two cards, one with a picture of his own face on it and another with a series of numbers.

“I’ll get some food in him, then we’ll be out of your hair. An order of chicken wings, please.”

The woman raises an eyebrow at the man, but then shrugs.

“Alright, Julio, if you say so. Coming up.”

The woman scribbles something on a scrap of paper, then walks away to deliver it to someone further back behind the counter. As soon as she’s taken her first step, Julio’s shoulders relax. He mutters something that sounds like swearing, but it’s in a language Shatterstar hasn’t heard before.

“Dude, if you’re going to take drugs, maybe put the swords away first, yeah?”

Shatterstar blinks at him. “I am not on any medication. I am not in need of such things.”

“I’m not a cop, you don’t have to lie to me,” Julio says, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, just come sit. Eat something.”

Shatterstar is increasingly confused by this interaction.

“Why are you helping me? What do you want?”

Another sigh.

“I just don’t want tomorrow’s headlines to be ‘crazy mutant stabs four people in a bar fight’, dude.”

“I would not stop at four. Leaving a threat still standing is sloppy.”

“Oh my god.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @[xenosaurus](http://xenosaurus.tumblr.com)


End file.
